I have been writing about food and health a lot, lately. I think that it is time to change the tone, even if only for this one post. I think I’m going to write about relationships for this subject. I know I am a more of a moth in a butterfly’s world, but let a brother dream would ya!
I’m not claiming to be an expert by any stretch of the imagination, but I have had my experiences. I’m not getting into anything involving my married life, it’ll be in the book. What I will get into is how every relationship I have had, has failed. Think about it, if you’re no longer with someone that you started out wanting to be with, is it a failure? Sure there are many people out there who are great friends that started off as “interested in each other” I like to think of those as “breakfast relationships.” It starts out as an attempt at an over-easy egg, ends up as scrambled. Not a bad outcome, but not what was intended.
Something to think about, right?
I think my problem has been and will continue to be that I’ve spent too much time alone. I have never felt good enough, or pretty enough to be loved unconditionally. I am not crying nor do I want people to feel sorry for me. Its just how I felt and feel about myself. I am still able to function and pay taxes. My mom told me once, we had many a conversation after my divorce, “Son if you stay single too long, it’ll be much harder for a long-term relationship with someone new.” I told her she was crazy, and that she didn’t know what the hell she was talking about, after all, she was just an old lady who was alone because she was cuckoo for cocoa puffs. Fast-forward to today, I am the same age she was when she gave me that advice, and I’ve been alone for about 18 years. Mom 1bazillion Keeme 3 (tell you about the 3 another time).
“Wow! I had no idea how long it had been until I did the math just now.”
Sure, I blame my failed relationships aka omelets on my health and other circumstances. A single father from 1995 until just a few years ago. Let me take that back I will be a single father for the rest of my life, but I raised a family from 95 until a few years ago. There were a couple of relationships early, but when there was friction I had to choose my daughters over relationship. I thought this was the reason that I was alone, it wasn’t. The girls were more important to me than anything, if I had been able to maintain a relationship, chances are I could have made life easier on the offspring. I bring too much baggage and who has time to unpack these days. I know I missed out on some exceptional, un-lived years, so did my daughters. I’m probably going to be saying the same thing 18 years from now if I’m alive.
I’ve met some wonderful people in my life. I don’t have any regrets when it comes to friendships I’ve made, the connections, or even the loves lost. Somewhere down deep inside I feel like I’m still turning into that butterfly, and I’ll find someone who is compatible with me. If I don’t, I’m prepared for that. I think I’ll be just fine soaring through life as a moth that thinks he’s a beautiful butterfly. I just hope thats not a windshield up ahead.
A long time ago a friend said to me “you know, you never see any old fat people.” We talked about this for a bit, and I realized, I AM GOING TO DIE YOUNG, if I remained fat.
Although this conversation took place about ten years ago, I am still alive, I am also still fat. I am scared of and to death.
The reason I bring it up now is the death of yet another young actor by heart attack, I am talking about James Gandolfini. He was sort of heavy. He had millions and could afford help getting healthy. I don’t know his story and what battles he was fighting to stay this side of the grave. I have been eating way better now that I live on my own, but I am still fat, so I need to do so much more. I have considered the “lapband” procedure and was not going to mention it, but here I am going to bed scared like a turkey a day before Thanksgiving and waking up like a lottery winners distant cousin, and hating myself more and more with each passing day.
I am going to continue this life for as long as it’ll have me. I really am afraid of dying because I have not done the thing I am supposed to do in this life just yet. This and I think my kids would be a little bummed.
Working on websites and podcasts gives me hope in ways I had not thought possible. I want to make a difference in the world, I also want people to love me! So far the “making a difference” thing has been more on my mind than the approval/making people laugh thing. I really want to see what we can do (WARNING, TEAM PEP TALK COMING) as a group. Maybe we buy cows for farmers where one cow can make a huge difference in an entire family’s lives. Maybe we help some of the malnourished children who go blind because of a simple vitamin deficiency. Even if my effort help only one person, it’ll be worth the effort.
I don’t know where the Keeme ship is heading. All I know is I am trying to change the course by at least one degree to the better. I may have to drop some of the ballast first.
My daughter went shopping for me yesterday. I saw what she brought me and felt as if it wasn’t enough. I’ll list it so y’all can see my point. Canned pinto beans, 2 loaves of potato buns, a pack of white corn tortillas, dozen eggs, 3 bottles of wine, big bag of rice, jalapeños, a few cans of tuna, some ground beef. I made a few meals and drank an entire bottle of wine a few hours ago (not the meals all at once, the wine… yes). I realized, after I woke up from sitting in my chair in the kitchen, recovering from my bad decision, I eat way too much. Not that I overate, I just eat way too much. I think everyone reading this eats way too much. I sat there in the dark, appreciating my daughter and how she got me more than I had needed. I thought about my grandkids and how she is raising them to eat healthier. Then it hit me, hard, what about the people who don’t get enough to eat. The kids who are “starving in Africa,” as people would say when I did not clean my plate. I have thought of them, often, but I have never done anything to help them, other than clean my plate. I have made attempts to research in the past, only to become overwhelmed with the data and distracted by [insert indulgence here].
So I went online and typed a simple search.
“How many hungry kids are there in the world?”
I won’t post all the things I read here if you’re reading this and are interested, do that same search.
In 2010, there were 925 million people.
I read another stat that over 400 million kids were hungry. Not “I want some more!” hungry, but I am dying and will be a number in a chart, hungry.
I’m not writing this to do anything more than get it out, for now. I am full, and I feel horrible about it. I usually feel the self hate after my second slice of pizza. The disgust when I eat that dessert and do it for the taste and not because I needed a shake with my meal or an entire pie on a holiday honoring myself for being that thing of the day.
The difference today is I think I know why I hate myself. My humanity is crying inside my fat body and wishing I could stop and just think, for a moment about those who could use my help.
Maybe the wine is still in my system, and this will be just another CrazY Keeme post to ignore.
Maybe I am ok with being ignored for being silly and all. One thing I have to change is ignoring myself. I don’t have the answers, but I got questions. I am going to make it a daily thing here. I searched on the first one… I asked for all y’all to search on it too. With the results come my next question. What can I do?
I am using t his site, Keeme.com for the storytelling and writing aspects of my life. My podcasts are now on their own domains. Keemecast.com and Halfasshotrods.com.
I will be recording stories and uploading them here as part of the Keeme storytelling experience.
Thanks for checking this site out and I hope you come back, I’ll try and tell you some cool, fun, scary stories.
I was a guest on Scott’s show, Speaking of That podcast… it was a lot of fun.
I have always wanted my own “home office.” It took me years to get one in the workplace. I actually had two offices at one time by the end of my stint as that “office guy.” It really was a wonderful time, followed by the worst exodus I’ve ever been a part of. I have been part of a few mass exoduses, but we’ll save that for another post. So those [offices] don’t really count. Now that I have an office in my home, is an apartment really home? Well, I live here so we’ll call it my home, for now. I am once again a happy, sleepy dragon.
The door has two holes in it. The first one, I created the very day I started using the office. When I came into the room, I got stuck. Actually, the wheelchair got stuck, I just happen to be riding in it. I did what any rational, decent, World Of Warcraft playing, red-blooded American (at home or abroad) would do, I punched the door and screamed “FOR THE HOARD!” I actually yelled out an obscenity, but for this post we’ll just say it was some geeky thing uttered here and leave the “DARK SPEECH” to middle earthlings. The second hole, wheelchair involvement as well, was “stabbed” on exit; an exposed legrest. I’m starting to think my wheelchair doesn’t like offices as much as I do. Upon entering, standing out are the big, beautiful red drapes. Setting the tone, more of a mood, quiet comfort mixed with sexy. The floor to ceiling drapes rest just behind the sleek, white ikea desk. On the desk sits a beautiful brushed aluminum iMac, nested underneath it, lit in neon blue, is a USB hub connected to many hidden cables. Across the desk, prominently featured is a mounted microphone boom arm, at the end of the boom rests an MXL990 cardioid mic. Across the room is a tan, unbelievably comfortable love-seat The two things I love most about this room (really more of a studio in progress than an office) 1) The beautiful, heavy, glass water pitcher sitting on the desk and 2) The wall-mounted picture of a1964 Mustang’s front end, all in black & chrome. It’s warm and inviting, comfortable and stylish. This studio/office is one of the most productive rooms I have ever been inside of. I am writing this now only because the room has deemed it so.
The wait is finally over – “That’s what she said!”
Revised for grammar issues.
I have always wanted my own “home office,” it took me years to get one in the workplace. I once had two offices. It unquestionably was a glorious time, followed by, what I know to be the worst exodus of my life. I have been part of a few mass exoduses, but we’ll save that for another post. For this story, those offices do not count. Now that I have an office in my home, (is an apartment actually a home?) either way I feel like a pro. Well, I live here so we’ll call it my home, for now. I am once again a happy, sleepy dragon.
The door has two holes in it. The first one, I created the exact moment I started using the office. When I came into the room, my wheelchair got stuck, I just happened to be in it at the time. I did what any reasonable, decent, World Of Warcraft playing, macho American (at home or abroad) would do; I punched the door and screamed “FOR THE HOARD!” The truth is, I yelled out an expletive. For this post, let’s just say there were geeky words instead of the ones uttered. We can leave the “DARKSPEECH” to middle-earthlings. The second hole, wheelchair related as well, was “stabbed” on exit; an exposed leg rest. I’m starting to think my wheelchair does not like offices as much as I do. Upon entering, standing out are the superb, sexy red drapes. The new tone, more of an atmosphere is quiet comfort mixed with sexy. The drapes resting just behind the sleek white ikea desk are humongous. On the desk sits a beautiful brushed aluminum iMac, nested underneath it, lit in neon blue, is a USB hub connected to many hidden cables. Across the desk, prominently featured is a mounted microphone boom arm, at the end of the boom rests an MXL990 cardioid mic and across the room is a tan, unbelievably comfortable love-seat. The two things I love most about this room (really more of a studio) are 1) The beautiful, heavy, glass water pitcher sitting on the desk and 2) The wall-mounted picture of a1964 Mustangs front end, all in black and chrome. It is warm and inviting, comfortable and stylish. This studio/office is one of the most creative rooms I’ve ever; used. I am writing this now only because the room has deemed it so.
The wait is finally over – “That’s what she said!”
I am going to write my own obituary as if I was writing my own obituary in a real life situation. If you understood this, please continue reading. If not, then continue reading and maybe we will both have an idea of what I mean.
November 14th, 1964 – September 3rd, 2021
Robert J. Keeme, 56 of Eagle River, was born November 14th, 1964 in Mesa, Az. to Robert and Yolanda Keeme. He graduated from Rio Salado Community College in 1984 with a certificate in manual fabrication and wire harness for the Apache helicopter. He made his way north, to Alaska, in the summer of 2013 and began his 21st career as a trapper. Aspiring to be the best, he created a revolutionary line of snares and assorted traps under the LLC of Beaver me this®. Seeking to supplement his lifelong dependence on food and shelter, Robert wrote short stories about his life and times as an aspiring writer, writing about writing. He loved to complain about the little things and worry about what he would do once he started living. His survivors include everyone he knew in 2012 and a few others he did not, from back in the day, including that cute delivery pizza girl in the baseball cap. He is preceded in death by every son of a bitch that ever wronged him and all the telemarketers that were real-life jerkoffs.
Graveside services are 2:00 p.m. Wednesday, September 8th, at Pamela Joy Lowry Memorial Park
Write a 500-word biography of your life. Think about the moments that were most meaningful to you and that shaped you as a person.
Todays lesson I have actually been thinking about for years. Not the lesson itself, but the message. I may not write it as a biography, I will write what I write. Maybe I’l come back to this one later.
Long ago,I started writing a book about my childhood. I think we all think our early years were the filled with stories strangers would love to read; I don’t think this way. I tell my stories and people tend to cry. My childhood did not have many joyous moments, some were funny, but I think thats only because of the way I tell them. Like the time I tried to bring back that cow from the dead. The part of the story where I get most laughs is when I bring that damned thing back to life and the rection my family had. Mom, aunt, and uncle think its [the cow] is possessed, because only three legs were actually working and it was growling. There was lots of screaming and praying to Jesus involved. I was grounded to my room for a week! They actually were afraid of me for quite some time. It was like how most people are afraid of that kid, Anthony Fremont from the Twilight Zone’s “It’s a Good Life,” who sends people to the cornfield.
The biggest part of my childhood was wearing leg braces. I wore them until I was about eight years old. I won’t go into all the bad memories of going to school in these things, the fittings, the pain. What I was reminded of was how I felt, as an adult, after years of not thinking about them consciously I was watching Forrest Gump. Th scene where he dances for Elvis made me sick and emotional. I could not explain it at the time, but now I think I have more of a handle on what happened. See, I am a huge Elvis Presley fan, and when Elvis sorta makes fun of that kid I felt that Elvis was making fun of me. I know that is a silly thing to think, I also know that the movie was not a true story. My inner child (I actually see how that little guy is still around) felt it and kids don’t really know the difference between fact and fiction. I have not cried since I was a kid, and when he broke free fro his braces I almost did… Almost. I read a friends page where she posted a link to a book “Some Kids Wear Leg-Braces.” It sort of brought back that familiar pain, yet again.
I have to deal with all these memories and maybe one day seek out some professional help, but because of my age, I don’t think it will happen for me. I just have to deal with all these memories and maybe, just maybe, finish that damned book already. Working title is “Defect.” I tried to find happy moments and, although there were some, they were mostly tied to much darker ones. Examples would be as follows:
1) Woke up during surgery at age five and saw them working on my right foot. 2) Getting spanked in front of my entire classroom for peeing in my pants, during recess, on a rainy day. 3) Watching another child kill himself across from my cage (in the children’s hospital, we slept in fully enclosed, cold, chrome, metal cribs). 4) Coming home, finding pictures the family had taken at the fair, without me. They seemed happier.
This assignment sucks.
Write an interview with yourself, an acquaintance, a famous figure or a fictional character. Do it in the style of an appropriate (or inappropriate) publication such as Time, People, Rolling Stone,Huffington Post, Politico, Cosmopolitan, Seventeen or Maxim.
I was inspired to do this, again, by a writer I admire. I will add the link at the end of all this (I don’t want to send anyone away just yet). I am going from step #1 to #6 because I love the idea of an interview, and most of all, like the ones I read in Playboy magazine. Yes, people actually do read the articles. So in the style of Playboy, and what I liked about it was it was the first time I read someone use expletives in print. I asked the Devil to interview me on this one.
Devil: Hello Robert, Nice to finally meet you.
Me: Nice to meet you as well. You seem less “fiery” than I expected.
Devil: I get that a lot. So tell me, Whats it like being a hypocrite?
Me: What are you referring to?
Devil: You spent years avoiding this, meeting me, and suddenly you are an atheist and have no problem sitting in me presence. Why the change of heart?
Me: I guess I have always struggled with a “guy in the sky” and figured it was time I finally just said it out loud. The stress levels have gone down considerably, with the guilt for all the sinning and all.
Devil: Tell me about it. I wish I had been as smart as investment bankers when it came to sins. If I had modeled the entire soul for desires thing, I could have retired by now. Now I am stuck with these worthless pieces of shit. Want to buy Hitler? I have a Christmas special going on.
Me: No thanks, I think I married his sister. I kind of blamed you for that one.
Devil: [laughing] Oh yeah! I forgot about that, sorry man. I owe you one.
Me: No problem, I learned from it.
Devil: Bummer, I had great plans for you. So you just decided to “quit” God, just like that? No trial period, no asking clergy for guidance.
Me: Here’s the thing. I don’t consider myself totally quit yet. I mean, sure, I’m saying things like “Amen, although I’m an atheist!” after the Thanksgiving prayer, but I am not 100% sure I am done with a higher power.
Devil: You really did that? That’s kind of a dickish move. Bravo bro.
Me: Hey! I’m not proud of that shit. I did not have to do it, I felt so bad, my daughter said a wonderful prayer expressing her thanks for our family and the beautiful event. I had no right to “muck it up” like that. I later apologized and she laughed it off. I still regret that I felt compelled to say that. It was really a dumb thing to do.
Devil: There are worse things. Listen while we are on the subject of your family. What about seeing them in the afterlife. Denouncing the almighty means you forfeit the gates of heaven and a cool “high-rise” cloud nine condo. Doesn’t this fill your heart with fear?
Me: I think that is why I am not 100% off board. I think about all the folks who have already gone. We tell the people we love that “so n so” will be going to a better place and we get to see them when we go to that place as well. It’s the part of the equation that I still have trouble with, and I’ve always been bad at math.
Devil: Remember that guy that killed that other guy and he told you about it?
Devil: That was cool huh.
Me: Not really. That shit keeps me up at night.
Devil: The fact that he killed a man?
Me: Not so much that. The hard part is knowing about it and keeping it a secret all these years.
Me: Hey! You watch Breaking Bad too?
Devil: Dude, I wrote that shit. Fuck Vince Gilligan. HE gets all the credit for my work.
Me: [laughing] wow, this is bizarre.
Devil: Why do you say that?
Me: You’re a lot more likable than I’d imagined.
Me: Touche’ mother fucker
Devil: One last thing
Me: [nervous] what about it?
Devil: No, let’s watch porn now.
Me: thought you’d never ask.
This is the interview I came up with. I have to admit something. I did edit the story, actually rewrote it. The first draft was both God and the Devil interviewing my on separate days. God was more direct and I revealed things about myself I didn’t even want to know. I saved it and one day I promise to share it. Today was not that day.